Invisible Scars
by Geraldine
Summary: Sam meets Kevin. Things go downhill from there. An ESF fic, sequel to Shattered World.
1. Part One

Title : Invisible Scars  
  
Author : Geraldine  
  
E-mail : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com   
  
Category : ESF, drama/angst  
  
Characters : Sam, Toby, and a little Josh and CJ  
  
Rating : PG-13  
  
WARNING : deals with sexual abuse. If the topic upsets you, time to run...  
  
Summary : Sam meets Kevin. Things go downhill from there. A sequel to Shattered World - it won't make much sense if you haven't read it.  
  
Disclaimer: They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money for this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. I'm begging : don't sue.  
  
Spoilers : To be sure, the first four seasons.  
  
Acknowledgements :   
  
Thanks to Emily, who beta'd the story and made sure it was written in English.   
  
Coupdepam is the first person who read this fic, and her encouragements convinced me that it was worth posting. You wouldn't be reading it if it wasn't for her.  
  
I suck at finding titles, and I really had problems finding one for this fic. Thanks to Coupdepam, Emily and Elaine, who all helped me to choose and gave me ideas.   
  
  
  
PART ONE  
  
Friday  
  
"Toby, I'm not going to tell her, deal with it." His tone was clearly annoyed now, and he didn't care. They had been arguing for a good fifteen minutes, and he was tired of it.  
  
"Sam - " his boss tried.  
  
"No!" he snapped. "She has enough on her mind right now. And I don't want to talk about it."  
  
He half expected Toby to try again, but his boss was now pretending to read the last draft of what Doug had come up with, and Sam enjoyed the break. It was too hot in the office. Or maybe he was hot because he had had to deflect Toby's questions for so long. He sighed. He had already rolled up his sleeves, taken his tie off and opened his collar. He wouldn't get more comfortable than that, unless he took his shirt off. The President might have a problem with that though. Granted, it was Friday and they were almost done for the week, but there was informal and then there was informal.  
  
Seeing that his boss wasn't watching him, he took off his glasses and rested his head on the cushions of the couch. He was exhausted. The week had been frustrating, with Bruno seemingly only interested in pissing the staff off, CJ withdrawn, and Josh petulant - Sam was tired of hearing his complains about Amy. He was the only one of them having a love life, and he dared to complain? Life was so unfair...  
  
And then there was Toby.  
  
Toby, who had watched his every move since that night, a few months ago, when Sam had admitted to having been sexually abused by his godfather when he was a kid.  
  
Toby, who did his best to help but had no clue what to do.   
  
Toby, who seemed to expect Sam to tell him what he had to do, as if Sam had any idea.  
  
Toby, who had decided to go on a crusade to have Sam tell the rest of the senior staff what had happened.   
  
"It would be safer, in case someone in the press gets a hold of - " Thankfully, Toby hadn't finished the sentence by 'the story', but had gestured vaguely.   
  
Sam didn't want to tell the others. Even Toby wouldn't have known if he hadn't gotten drunk. He had let his guard down for a few moments, he wasn't going to let that happen again any time soon.  
  
Besides, the others had finally stopped looking at him as if he was going to shatter in the next five seconds, and he wouldn't go back to the way it had been for anything. For months, after the MS, they had treated him with kid gloves, or had ignored him and just as he was beginning to feel back in his game, he had made that stupid mistake with Kevin. He still took a few minutes every day to beat himself up upon that, but everyone else seemed to have moved on.   
  
It would of course have been a huge exaggeration to say that things had gone back to what they were before the MS, they never would, but things were definitely looking up.   
  
Maybe Toby wouldn't change his mind, but as far as Sam was concerned, the others didn't have to know.   
  
  
  
Toby stared at the speech Doug had written - appalling, as usual. He wasn't really paying attention to it though. Half his attention was focussed on Sam, trying to find an argument to change his mind, wondering if he should push it.  
  
In a way it was reassuring to see Sam stand up to him. It had been a long time since he had done that. He had had a bad winter, basically cultivating his breakdown on his own and not letting anyone getting close. Then, there had been the bill, and the phone call, and a late night confession. After that, he had slowly begun to go back to normal. He was doing better when Kevin Kahn had come see him, but after the tape, Sam had spent weeks listening to everyone, not discussing anything - doing his job, with no extras, no smile, no anything.  
  
Yes, it was good to see him protest that he wasn't going to tell more people.   
  
On the other hand, he had to wonder if the reasons Sam wanted to keep silent were the good ones. He had a feeling his deputy didn't want more people to know because for years, nobody had known, and living in secret was more reassuring than confiding in his friends. Toby could understand that, but he didn't have to like it.  
  
He shot a look at Sam, who had closed his eyes. He wasn't asleep, Toby knew. He was clutching his glasses, and Toby had seen his deputy asleep often enough to know when he was really resting and when he was either thinking or playing possum.  
  
Sam looked exhausted, there was no denying that. For that reason only, Toby decided to let him off the hook - for today. No need to push.  
  
He was ready to call it a day himself. Doug's speech would have to wait, he decided. Or Bartlet could give it like it was, since Bruno knew everything better anyway. He was becoming bitter, but seeing these people take the campaign over was painful, frustrating, infuriating. It was supposed to be * their * campaign. It was supposed to be about issues, about making things better. It was supposed to be about proving that Bartlet was the right man for the job.  
  
It wasn't supposed to be about explaining that Bartlet wasn't worse than any other President.  
  
And if he was beginning to brood, it was definitely time to go home.  
  
Sam's voice startled him out of his reverie. "Damn it, I can't get that fucking speech right!!"  
  
Toby watched him and the younger man blushed.  
  
"Sorry, I just... where did he learn to write, anyway? This speech sucks!"  
  
Toby had to agree.  
  
The good news was, it was a speech that Bartlet was supposed to give next week which gave them the time to ask Doug for another draft - one that wouldn't use 'values' seven times in two pages, for starters.  
  
He rose from his seat. "Go home, I'll tell Doug to work on it."  
  
"But weren't we supposed - "  
  
"Well, we're not going to," Toby said firmly.  
  
"Leo won't like it," Sam said hesitantly.  
  
"Leo can..." Sam raised an eyebrow and he quickly amended, "I mean, there's no point in hiring these people if it's to re-do everything again because they're not good enough. Doug can work on it this week end, while we enjoy our last holidays until the election."  
  
"If you say so..." Sam allowed, clearly tempted, but still torn between his need for sleep and his duty.  
  
"I do. Go home, that's an order."  
  
That was all Sam needed to flee the building, Toby noticed. Squaring his shoulders, he made his way to Leo's office.  
  
  
  
Sam dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and his jacket on the floor, then collapsed on the couch. He grabbed the remote, then frowned a little.  
  
He was off for two days - he would go to the office tomorrow, maybe, if they needed him, but he could sleep in late, leave work early, and basically rest. He didn't have to watch CNN. For once, just once, maybe he could skip the news?  
  
Deliberately putting the remote back on the table, he sat there a few minutes, then smiled softly. 'I'm sick, I need help,' he thought, turning the TV on. His place seemed foreign to him when the TV was off. "That should tell me something," he sighed.  
  
He was a little surprised at Toby's reaction to the speech. His boss was usually a lot more guarded than that when it came to the campaign staff. He supposed the frustration of seeing Bruno dictate their strategy was getting to everyone. And then, there was also the fact that they were all concerned about CJ. She hadn't confided in anyone, she had gone to Simon's funeral, had come back the next day and hadn't answered any questions on how she was doing. Even Toby couldn't get through to her, and that was worrisome.  
  
There was also the Josh problem. Josh had caught him before he could leave the office to ask him to go out and have a few beers. "I don't want to go see Amy tonight," he had added, and that had made Sam refuse. He didn't mind his friend (former friend?) having a girlfriend, he didn't mind him rubbing their faces in it (well, not too much) but he minded that he had become the contingency plan. In his humble opinion, Josh was, and had always been at his most insufferable, when he was with someone. He was arrogant under normal circumstances, but having a girlfriend seemed to confirm him in his opinion that he was, indeed, da man. Sam wondered if he had ever been that painful to deal with when he was engaged, but he sure hoped not.  
  
Besides, he had the feeling that Josh had asked everyone else before coming to him. But then maybe he was just being paranoid.  
  
What had gotten to him was the way Josh acted - ignore Sam until you need someone to do you a favor, or to have an alibi to go out. Pretend everything's normal when you need him, and go back to ignoring him and his flights of fancy when you don't anymore.  
  
Maybe he was overreacting - he did that sometimes - but he couldn't help how he felt. Right now, he wanted to beat Josh's self satisfied smirk off his face each time he saw him. Thinking back on the way they were a few years ago, he had to wonder where it had all gone bad.  
  
His stomach rumbled loudly. Sighing, Sam took his phone and called the nearest chinese restaurant.   
  
  
  
Saturday  
  
Sam enjoyed jogging, especially in the summer morning. He let the wind slap his face, waking him completely.  
  
He would have closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation even more if he hadn't been accident prone. He had needed a few stitches after tripping on a rock once, and he had heard about it for weeks. So he settled for picking up his pace, going as fast as he could, before stopping at the end of the path, out of breath.  
  
He shot a look at his watch, and decided that he had done a good time - not that he intended to run competitively ever again, but it was good to know that he was still in good shape.  
  
He checked his pulse before turning back to return to his place, longing for a shower. He couldn't wait to be home so he could collapse on the couch. There was nothing like the post-running bliss, when your muscles relaxed and you felt yourself floating a little.  
  
He should enjoy it while it lasted, he knew.  
  
He had to see his therapist in the afternoon, and it was usually hard.  
  
Putting the thought aside for now, he focussed on the present.   
  
  
  
Six hours later  
  
Sam exited the apartment building, all the benefits from his jogging long gone.  
  
He was tense, he was on edge, he felt slightly dirty, depressed, and angry, and frustrated, and a few other things he couldn't quite place.   
  
He squinted a little in the harsh light of the day.  
  
He met Joyce at her place since she was retired. He had gone to her private consultation regularly, when he had first lived in Washington, back when he worked in Congress. He had always paid her cash, had never accepted a receipt, and had stopped going there when there had been a rumor of a staffer from a Senator having a nervous breakdown. Somehow, he had taken all the whispers and the false pitying glances for himself.  
  
Joyce had told him then to feel free to call her whenever he needed to talk. He had taken her up on her offer shortly after Bartlet's election, then stopped going to see her after a few months - still scared of Washington's rumor mill.  
  
No one was comfortable with the concept of mental illness, he knew. He had seen therapists semi regularly since he was in college and he still didn't like it. People were suspicious of you when you saw a therapist - or at least, he had always felt that way. They expected you to snap. Or to break down and cry on their shoulder at the slightest provocation.  
  
He did a job where what you managed to accomplish depended on appearances. If you didn't look trustworthy, no one was ever going to give you trust. If you didn't look in control, no one was going to give you control. And when that happened, you didn't have any influence on anyone, and you couldn't get anything done.  
  
Part of him knew that he was exaggerating. It wasn't that bad. Not everyone had a negative a priori when therapists were concerned. Not everyone would think he was nuts if they knew he was seeing one.   
  
He just didn't want to take chances, which was probably why the car starting on the other side of the street freaked him out. When he realized that he must have looked guilty of just murdering someone, he forced himself to relax.  
  
Nothing told him that the driver had had bad intentions.  
  
Besides, worst case scenario, they had a picture of him going out of an apartment building.  
  
No big deal, he told himself.  
  
Nothing to be afraid of.  
  
  
  
By the time it was dark, he still wasn't feeling better.  
  
It was stupid, he knew, to feel so anxious merely because of a car speeding up just as he was leaving Joyce.  
  
It was a coincidence.  
  
There wasn't any reason for it to be anything else.  
  
The only people in the world who knew were trustworthy, they would have had no reason to go to the press with this.  
  
Yet he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't right.  
  
Cursing his overactive imagination, he paced the floor of his apartment, wondering what to do.  
  
He didn't feel like running again.  
  
He had tried to work on the speech some more, but he was still stuck on it, and damn it, it was Doug's job anyway.  
  
He couldn't go back to the West Wing - he had made an appearance before going to see Joyce, but everything seemed under control. Besides, Bruno would probably be there. He didn't need to deal with Bruno today.  
  
He couldn't call Toby and ask him to come over, maybe watch a game. They had spent so much time working together recently that they needed some space. Besides, his boss seemed to have grown antennae where Sam was concerned - a disturbing fact. He'd know within seconds that Sam was preoccupied and would grill him until he gave up and spit it out. Then he'd tell him to tell CJ, and there would be yet another debate on the subject.  
  
He couldn't sleep yet. He was too worked up for that.  
  
He didn't feel like drinking alone - he could drink alone, just not at his place. He needed people around him, even if none of them were with him.  
  
"Guess that leaves going to a bar," he whispered to himself.  
  
Shrugging, he put on his coat, decided to leave his car keys here so he wouldn't be tempted to drive after he'd had a few too many beers, and left his place.  
  
  
  
Sam took two steps into the bar and decided that coming here had been his worst idea ever.  
  
Kevin was sitting at a table, looking sourly at his glass.  
  
Sam took a step back to hide in the shadows, wondering what to do. He would feel stupid leaving this place just because this scum was there. On the other side, he didn't feel like trading insults tonight. He was still wondering what to do when someone bumped into him, propelling him forward.  
  
"Sorry, man," he heard.  
  
Kevin looked up and their eyes met.  
  
Great, his day was going better and better.  
  
"Sam," Kevin said, a big smile on his face.  
  
"Kevin," he answered neutrally.  
  
"How are you doing? Still got a job?"  
  
He must know the answer perfectly well, Sam thought. All of Washington would have known if he'd been fired over something like that - not that he hadn't deserved it, he figured, but people would have known.  
  
He didn't answer, glaring at his former friend. When the other didn't say anything else, he spun on his heels and went to the barman. "Jack Daniels."  
  
The man had put the drink in front of him, Sam nodding his thanks, when Kevin came to sit next to him. "Trying to ignore me, Seaborn?" he asked.  
  
"You didn't seem to have anything more to say," he pointed out neutrally. Always stay neutral, he told himself. Don't give him any leverage.  
  
"Oh, but I have so much more to say, if you'd listen... But no, you always have to do what you want."  
  
Sam didn't answer. The other man didn't know anything.  
  
"You and your colleagues... The Almighty Senior staff of the Almighty Bartlet."  
  
'President Bartlet,' Sam thought. He had to refrain himself from speaking out loud. The other man would only see it as a provocation.  
  
Maybe he would even be right.  
  
For the first time, Sam realized that Kevin was drunk.  
  
Very drunk, actually.  
  
"I'm not exactly in Ritchie's papers right now," Kevin went on. Sam startled. What the hell was he doing admitting that? "But I'm busy working on that."  
  
Sam took a sip of his drink and suppressed a grimace at the burn.  
  
"There are so many skeletons left buried yet," Kevin went on, talking mostly to his drink now. "So many flaws the public doesn't know of."  
  
'And your governor is a saint?' Sam thought. Kevin didn't seem to need an answer though.  
  
"Well, I guess you'll hear more about that... You know, all the small..." Kevin paused, enjoying his effect, before spitting, "...secrets, Bartlet and his senior staff share."  
  
Sam stared at his glass, at his hand on the glass, clutching it.  
  
Did he know?  
  
How could he know?  
  
Kevin rose and clasped him on the shoulder. "Guess I'll go work on that," he said amicably.  
  
Sam didn't answer, his mouth seemed filled with cotton.  
  
What was Kevin after?  
  
What did he know?  
  
Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He was being paranoid. Kevin was just babbling, trying to scare him off.  
  
He was bluffing.  
  
Wasn't he?  
  
Please, oh please, let him be bluffing.  
  
Swallowing the rest of his drink, Sam gestured to the barman for a refill and tried to focus on what Kevin had said.  
  
  
  
Two hours later  
  
White House   
  
Josh's cell phone began to ring as he was about to leave. "Damn it, I'm gone," he whined to the phone, which went on ringing, unperturbed.  
  
"Fine," he sighed, picking up. "Josh Lyman." He didn't bother to try to hide his impatience. He was done for the day, damn it.  
  
"Sir, this is the barman of the Georgetown."  
  
"Yes?" he said cautiously.  
  
"We have a friend of yours, Sam, and he's... well, he doesn't remember where he lives. I'd put him in a cab, but I thought that if one of his friends could pick him up..."  
  
Marvelous. And what was Sam doing, getting plastered alone, when the night before he had asked... Never mind.  
  
"I'll come get him," he said.  
  
When he entered the bar, half an hour later, he spotted Sam immediately. His friend had two types of drunk personalities - he was either happy, chatting with perfect strangers, who usually looked at him with a fair amount of amusement mixed with indulgence, or he was subdued and depressed, looking like he had run his puppy over.  
  
Tonight seemed to be of the latter kind.  
  
He sat next to him and looked at him, waiting for Sam to notice him. When his friend finally realized that someone was sitting there, he squinted a little at him, then recognition settled in. "Hey, Josh. Watcha doing here?" he asked.  
  
"The barman called," Josh said patiently.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Mark. He's kinda cool."  
  
The barman looked at Josh and shrugged slightly. "You were on his speed dial," he explained.  
  
"And Toby wasn't there," Sam added, then looked at his drink, losing the smile he had put on when he had seen Josh.  
  
Of course he'd called Toby first, Josh thought, wondering what the small twinge of whatever he had just felt was. "Okay, let's get you to bed," he ordered. For a minute, he thought Sam was going to argue, but his friend shrugged.  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Josh helped Sam to get to his feet, keeping a hand on his arm and guiding him to the exit, then to the car. He had to admit that he was impressed that Sam didn't fall on the way.  
  
Things began to take a bad turn when Sam, after five minutes of silent driving, whispered, "Josh, I don't feel too well."  
  
Josh was about to make a sarcastic comment but a look at Sam's face stopped him. "Damn it, Sam, if you throw up in my car..." He let the threat hang in the air, and Sam swallowed and nodded.   
  
"Sorry," he said weakly.  
  
"Never mind," Josh said, taking a right turn as softly as possible and parking as near his place as he was ever going to get.  
  
Sam blinked a little, looking out. "Not my pace. Place. Whatever," he said.  
  
"It was closer," Josh said tersely, and the conversation died.  
  
Sam didn't rush to the bathroom as Josh had feared. He seemed better now that he wasn't in a moving car. He went straight to the couch, and lay down gingerly, trying not to jerk his head. Josh watched him a minute, then went to the closet, took a bucket, and put it on the floor in reach of Sam.  
  
His friend had already passed out, and Josh rolled his eyes, taking off Sam's shoes. At least he hadn't been wearing a tie, or anything that needed removing before sleeping.  
  
He turned off the light and went to his bedroom, collapsed on his bed and let his mind wander.  
  
He wasn't seeing Amy tonight - he had bailed out of one of her fundraising dinners. At least that way, he had been able to pick up Sam. What was it with him anyway? And what was the new way Toby had of looking at him? After the Kahn debacle (Josh still hadn't gotten over his resentment for that - how could Sam have been so stupid?), he had expected Toby to go ballistic on Sam. Hell, if Josh had made such an amateurish mistake, Leo would have had his head. Instead, everyone had been supportive of Sam, except for Bruno. Why was that? Were they seeing something he wasn't?  
  
He supposed Sam and him weren't as close as they had once been, but now that the campaign was on its tracks and the MS behind them, surely things were better.  
  
Weren't they? He wondered, drifting off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Sam felt himself float, allowing Josh to take off his shoes without protestation.  
  
It was kind of funny to see everything spin, as long as he wasn't supposed to stand up. Or move.  
  
Now, though, he felt warm, relaxed, comfortable.  
  
Cozy, that was it.  
  
He felt cozy.  
  
He had always loved that word.  
  
It was surprising, since earlier in the evening, he was pretty sure he had been worried about something. What was that again?  
  
Too tired to try to remember, Sam let himself sink into the dark.  
  
He began to regret it almost immediately.  
  
He had been having nightmares again, since the tape fiasco. The stress probably. They were recurring ones, he'd had them since he was eight.  
  
His godfather, always.  
  
In some of these, he watched what had happened 'from the outside,' unable to intervene, condemned to watch, again, and again. These weren't the worst though. The worst were the ones in which he relived his childhood nightmare - the nights where his parents allowed his godfather (Paul, that was his name) to watch him and his brother. He knew what would happen these nights, oh yes, and he couldn't say anything.  
  
Paul would hurt Franck if he did, and his brother was younger than him. He had to take care of him, Dad had told him.  
  
Everything was normal until it was bedtime. Sam sometimes wondered whether he had dreamed these awful nights, his godfather was so nice and considerate. So... normal. They watched TV, he helped Sam to do his homework, he fed them.  
  
Then they had to go to bed, and Paul left the room, turning off the lights, and the waiting began. Would he come? He didn't come each time, but there was never any warning sign.  
  
Simply, sometimes he came, sometimes he didn't.  
  
It didn't stop Sam from watching the clock until he was so tired he couldn't stay awake anymore. Sometimes he woke up in the morning, and he cried in relief because Paul hadn't come tonight. Sometimes he woke up when the door opened and Paul's frame filled the door, and he cried because he didn't want him to come.  
  
Even after years, his godfather could scare him into submission.  
  
Sam began to move on the couch, trapped in his nightmare, not daring to cry out. He whispered softly, "Nononononono," repeatedly, until he couldn't hold still anymore. Sam began to thrash on the couch, trying to escape, as his godfather grasped his wrists.  
  
He stopped fighting and when the hand holding him down released him, he broke free and slammed a fist into whatever was in front of him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Josh had been slumbering for a while when a soft sound from the living room woke him.  
  
Was Sam sick?  
  
Sam was never sick. He had an insulting way of holding his liquor, in Josh's opinion.  
  
This didn't sound like someone being sick.  
  
He rose to his feet and made his way into the living room, watching Sam as he tossed and turned on the sofa. He was about to wake him up when Sam began thrashing. Afraid he might fall and hurt himself, Josh grabbed him and tried to hold him down, grimacing.  
  
Damn, his friend was strong.  
  
After a short while, Sam stopped resisting and he let go of his arms.   
  
Josh never even saw the blow coming.  
  
He felt Sam's fist connect with his cheek and he fell backwards, landing roughly on the floor.  
  
He heard a bang when his head collided with the carpet, then nothing. 


	2. Part Two

PART TWO  
  
Josh's apartment  
  
Toby didn't pause to knock before entering Josh's apartment. He could still hear Sam's voice, panicked on the other end of the line, less than half an hour earlier. "Toby, Josh is unconscious, can you come?"  
  
It had taken a few minutes for Toby to get the rest of the story out of his deputy. By the time he had finally understood that Sam had knocked Josh out accidentally, Josh was beginning to come around. Sam's voice was shaking as he asked Toby whether he should call an ambulance.  
  
"Does he know his name and where he is?" Toby had asked.  
  
There had been a muffled discussion, then Sam had answered, "Yeah, do I call an ambulance?"  
  
Hoping not to make a mistake, Toby had told him to keep Josh awake, and that if he passed out again, he should call. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he had promised, hanging up before his deputy could say more, and jumped into his car, not bothering to check his speed as he was rushing to Josh's place.  
  
When he entered, Sam was pacing the living room, and Josh was sitting on the couch. "Sam, I'm fine, I told you," Josh said in a tired voice.  
  
"You were unconscious for several minutes," Sam said. He spotted Toby and relief crossed his features. "Toby, can you drive - "  
  
Toby cut him off. "What the hell happened?"  
  
Sam froze in mid sentence, and Josh closed his eyes, resting his head on the cushions.  
  
"Don't fall asleep," Toby barked at him, and Josh's eyes flew open again. Turning back to Sam, Toby asked again, more gently, "What happened?"  
  
"I... I don't know. I was... Josh came to get me at the bar, and I didn't mean to hit him, I just... I don't understand." His hands flew to his head, pushing his hair back mechanically.  
  
Josh's voice rose. "The barman called me, Sam was too drunk to drive. I brought him here because he was about to get sick. I don't know, I think I fell asleep, and when I woke up, he was having a nightmare. He was thrashing, I tried to hold him down, and he hit me."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sam repeated, his gaze fixed on the floor. His hands were shaking, Toby noticed.  
  
"Okay, I'll drive Josh to the hospital and have him checked out," he decided. "You'll stay here, and we'll talk about all this when we're back."  
  
Josh was obviously about to protest the idea, but a glare in his direction was enough to make him reconsider. He got up and followed Toby to the door. Before leaving, Toby turned to Sam. "He'll be fine, don't worry, okay?" he said.  
  
Sam looked in his direction, not making eye contact. "Sure," he nodded.  
  
"He will," Toby insisted, ushering Josh in the hallway and closing the door.   
  
"What do you know that I don't?" Josh asked softly.  
  
"Let's get you to the ER," he said, evading the question.  
  
"Toby."  
  
"Josh... It's not my story to tell, okay. Does your head hurt?"  
  
"A little," Josh admitted.  
  
"Okay, let's go," he said, dragging him outside. The sooner they were back, the sooner they'd be able to reassure his deputy, he thought.  
  
Then, they would have a talk.  
  
A long talk.  
  
  
  
Three hours later  
  
Josh's place  
  
"I told you I was fine," Josh repeated.  
  
"For God's sake, Josh, if you say that one more time, I swear, you won't be fine anymore," Toby growled. He knew that Josh didn't like hospitals, no one did, but he had been unbearable for so long now that Toby was just about to snap.  
  
The fact that the doctors had confirmed that he was fine hadn't helped either. The 'told you so' look hadn't left Josh's face since.   
  
"Fine, whatever," Josh said, apparently realizing that Toby was dangerously close to explosion. "Now, what do you know about Sam that I don't?"  
  
Toby had been expecting that question since they had left the hospital. He had also wondered how he was going to answer it. He couldn't betray Sam's confidence. Not on such a sensitive matter. But on the other hand, Josh wasn't oblivious to subtle signals, sometimes. He was bound to have noticed something, even before tonight.  
  
"I told you," he said finally. "It's not my place to answer that."  
  
"So you * do * know something," Josh completed.  
  
It would have been futile to deny it.  
  
"Is he all right?" Josh asked.  
  
Good question. He didn't think so, but he lacked a scale of comparison. He knew that Sam lived with it as well as he could, and that most of the time, it was enough. Toby had never asked Sam if he had gone through times where it had become unbearable, but it would have been surprising if he hadn't.  
  
Was now such a time?  
  
He needed to talk to Sam.  
  
He supposed - he hoped - that his deputy had gone back to his place. When Josh and him had come back from the ER, Sam was gone, only leaving a note. "I'm sorry. See you guys later." Toby was reluctant to leave Josh alone, Josh wouldn't hear of calling Donna - "She'll mother me to death," he had protested - and he didn't want to wait until the next morning to deal with the situation.  
  
"Go find him," Josh said, as if reading his thoughts.  
  
"You shouldn't stay alone."  
  
"Toby, I have a bump, nothing more. I'm perfectly fine. Go find him."  
  
Toby looked at him, gauging his state. He did look fine, and there was a hint of guilt in his eyes. Toby knew what he was thinking; Sam had problems and he hadn't known anything about it. Once upon a time, he was his confidant. Not anymore, obviously, although he didn't know what had happened, and now he was wondering if Sam would be where he was today had he been more present. "He'll be okay too," he said, in an attempt to put Josh's mind at ease.  
  
"Yeah, right. Look, go, and I'll call you later, okay."  
  
Toby nodded and left him, wondering what he would find at Sam's place.  
  
  
  
Monday  
  
Sam accepted the stack of messages Ginger was handing him and dropped his briefcase into his office, noting gratefully that Toby wasn't there yet. They had spent the weekend arguing about what had happened, and he was exhausted.  
  
When Toby had arrived, Saturday night, Sam was already asleep. He had woken up in the morning, a bad headache preventing him from focussing too long on what was going on, Toby sprawled on a chair, watching CNN with the sound turned off.  
  
"Josh?" Sam had asked.  
  
"He'll be fine. You didn't hurt him."  
  
That was open to debate, Sam had thought, but he needed to go be sick before he could truly participate in any conversation, so he had left Toby and gone take a shower and change his clothes. His boss was still waiting in the living room when he had come back, clearly not in the mood for more evasion techniques. Sam had sat down, and told him everything, his run in with Kevin, his drinking, his nightmare, Josh.  
  
"We need to tell the others," Toby had said. Again.   
  
The discussion had lasted most of the week end, each man unwilling to come back on his position, until they had agreed to let it drop until Monday.  
  
If his boss still wasn't here, though, that meant he still had a few moments of quiet. Sitting down, he went through the messages Ginger had given him. Not important, not important, to call back ASAP, who the hell is that guy, call back soon, and -  
  
Steve?  
  
What was Steve doing, calling him?   
  
Picking up his phone he dialed the number Ginger had written down, her writing neat and precise.  
  
"Steven McKay," Steve said.  
  
"It's Sam."  
  
"Oh."  
  
That did nothing to reassure him. "You called?" he insisted.  
  
"Yeah, I... sorry, I didn't have a private number, and - "  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked. Steve was always short and to the point. He was a high ranking lawyer, he was busy, and he didn't have any time to lose on idle chat, especially with someone he hadn't spoken to since college. Even if back then, they had shared a secret.  
  
"I got drunk last week," Steve said. "Kevin was in town."  
  
"In Chicago? What was he doing - "  
  
"I don't know. Sam, the thing is... I have no idea what I told him. It was the first time I drank in ages, I quit some time after we graduated, and I'm not used to it anymore. It's... I can't remember what we talked about."  
  
"But you think it might have been about..."  
  
"I do know we talked about you," Steve said hesitantly. "He said something about a tape, I don't know what, and..."  
  
He didn't finish, he didn't need to.  
  
He didn't know anything else, but it was possible that Kevin had remembered that Steve and him had been friends at some point, and come to grill him - informally of course.  
  
And that would give a lot more weight to the veiled threats he had made Saturday night.  
  
Oh God, he thought.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"I'll call you back," he said absently, hanging up.  
  
He saw that Toby had arrived - he was busy asking Bonnie something.  
  
Feeling the walls of his office close down on him, he sat down heavily and tried to control his breathing.  
  
It wasn't sure yet.  
  
Maybe Kevin was just pushing randomly at buttons, in the hope that something would come out.  
  
Maybe he was just trying to push Sam to make yet another mistake.  
  
Or maybe he did have something.  
  
"Sam, are you okay?"   
  
Toby was concerned again.  
  
He was so sorry he kept worrying Toby these days.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
He shot a look at his boss, who frowned, closed the door and the blinds before coming to a stop in front of him. "What's wrong?"  
  
He shook his head. How would he know what was wrong, no one could give him any certainties.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
A knock on the door preceded Ginger. "Staff now."  
  
"One minute," Toby growled.  
  
"Leo insisted that - "  
  
"I said one damn minute," he barked.  
  
Ginger retreated without a comment, and Sam wondered fleetingly when the rest of the staff had gotten used to Toby's manners. Was it before or long after the end of the campaign?  
  
He frowned. Why was he even wondering about that now?  
  
  
  
Toby looked at his deputy, who was regaining some color. That had to be a good sign, he supposed.  
  
"Sam, are you having a panic attack?" he asked, to make sure.  
  
Sam shook his head, confirming Toby's suspicion. Panic attacks lasted longer.  
  
"You can't go out like that," Toby pointed out. "You have to calm down a little."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's not your fault," Toby said automatically, upset that the first words his deputy had said since he'd found him were an apology. He wasn't sure he liked that.  
  
Correction, he was sure he didn't like it. Sam spent too much time apologizing, he had always thought so. Once upon a time, it had annoyed him - and amused him on a few occasions. Now that he had an idea what Sam's past had been like, though, he didn't find it so amusing anymore.  
  
He had told himself that he wouldn't try to interpret all Sam did in terms of what had happened to him, but he wasn't entirely successful.  
  
"But - " Sam tried to insist.  
  
"It's * not * your fault," Toby said forcefully.  
  
"You don't even know why I'm saying that."  
  
"I can guess, though."  
  
There was another knock on the door.   
  
"We have to go to staff," Sam said.  
  
"I know. Then, we'll - "  
  
"Have to talk, yeah."  
  
He nodded and ushered Sam out of the room. He then spent the next ten minutes watching him, in Leo's office. Everyone could see Sam's mind wasn't on the meeting. As soon as Leo sent them away, Toby trailed behind Sam, following him to his office.  
  
"Hold our calls," he told Bonnie when he passed her in the bullpen. He closed the door to Sam's office, sat down in one of the visitors chairs, and asked, calmly, "Okay, what's up?"  
  
Sam looked at him, clearly torn, then at his phone. "Steve, an old friend of mine, told me he saw Kevin recently. He doesn't remember what he told him, but he knows they talked about me."  
  
"And Kevin accosted you Saturday," Toby completed.  
  
Sam nodded jerkily. "It's possible that he knows."  
  
Toby bit his lip. He knew, and understood, why Sam didn't want the story to come out. He just didn't think it would be that big a story. He had been the victim, not the criminal.  
  
"Are you kidding?" Sam yelled when Toby said as much. "What the fuck do you think people will think when they know that a senior staffer to the President is in therapy?"  
  
"Josh sees a psychiatrist."  
  
"No one knows that. And there's a reason we didn't make an announcement. Damn it, Toby, you know how people see therapy. They'll just think I'm nuts, or unbalanced, or whatever."  
  
"Sam, we educated the public after the MS. We could do it again."  
  
He snorted. "Right. Do you seriously think that I'd let things go that far?"  
  
"You'd quit?"  
  
"Hell, yeah."  
  
Toby was about to argue when he saw the way Sam was clenching his fists, as if ready to smash something, and kept quiet.  
  
"Toby, if they dig, they could find out about Josh. They already know that Leo is a recovering addict. They may even find out that the President..."  
  
Toby grimaced. He had hoped Sam wouldn't think about that.  
  
"How do you think that's gonna look? How do you think Ritchie will spin it?"  
  
Imagining the headlines Ritchie could cause if he got proof, he sighed. "I know. Okay, let's... Can they prove that you're seeing someone?"  
  
Sam shrugged. "They can prove that I did. They can... Okay, when I see Joyce now, she doesn't take notes, I only pay her cash, she never does an official receipt, nor bill -"  
  
"Why?" Toby suddenly wondered.  
  
"Because I was afraid of the way it might look if the press got a hold of this," Sam put in, bitterly.  
  
Toby grimaced.  
  
"Anyway, that's not really the point, is it?" Sam went on. "If they ask, we'll have to answer. Because if we lie, and they prove it..."  
  
"We could refuse to answer."  
  
Sam shook his head, not bothering to answer that. Not answering would be an answer in itself.  
  
"Okay. What about your previous therapist?"  
  
"I didn't see him too often, but yes, he must have kept records."  
  
"They're sworn to secrecy, Sam".  
  
"I know."  
  
"It's gonna be okay," he said.  
  
"Not if it leaks, no, it won't."  
  
"It won't come to that."  
  
He couldn't be sure. He needed to say it anyway.  
  
He was going to have to bring up the 'let's tell CJ' point again soon, he had to, but first, he needed Sam to concentrate.   
  
And calm down.  
  
Toby sighed. The day was going to be long. 


	3. Part Three

PART THREE  
  
Later that day   
  
Sam's place  
  
Sam was having a nightmare. He knew he was dreaming, it felt too... surreal, to be anything but a nightmare.   
  
A series of images, people saying everything he dreaded hearing.  
  
Leo's office, Toby saying, "Sam, it's time they knew." Him, facing the window and telling them everything, not looking at them once. The silence that followed.  
  
CJ saying softly, "God, Sam, I'm so sorry." Her eyes, pitying.  
  
The whispers.  
  
The sideways glances.  
  
His mother on the phone, calling him a liar, saying, "He would never have done that!"  
  
Him hanging up, not knowing what to say.  
  
And when the phone rang again, he unplugged it violently.  
  
It went on ringing.  
  
He stared at it, horrified.  
  
He didn't want to hear her anymore.  
  
He didn't want to -   
  
Sam woke up with a start, and grimaced at the pressure in his chest. The phone was ringing.  
  
'Nightmare,' he thought.  
  
It didn't help him relax, though.  
  
The phone had stopped ringing. Sam got up, and fell off the bed, out of breath. The pain in his chest increased.  
  
Panic attack.  
  
'Not again,' he silently begged.  
  
He sat up and leaned against his bed, trying to breathe evenly.  
  
He knew it was stupid. He knew it wouldn't happen like that, even if the story made it to the press. It was just... his worst nightmare. His mother would never doubt him. He was just scared that it might take this course, but it didn't mean anything.  
  
'He would never have done that.'  
  
God, his chest hurt.  
  
The phone rang again and he picked it up. "Yeah?"  
  
"What's wrong?" Toby asked immediately.  
  
Sam felt the pressure in his chest increase. His vision was beginning to blur. He was cold.  
  
"I don't... I... Toby..."  
  
"I'll be there soon," his boss cut off.  
  
Sam hung up, not wanting to waste his breath answering. Trying to control his breathing, he dialed Joyce's number.  
  
  
  
Toby arrived at Sam's apartment in time to see a middle aged woman entering it. "Who are you?" he asked, following her inside.  
  
"Dr Joyce Porter," she answered crisply, heading straight for the bedroom, not even looking at him. He followed, and did a double take when he saw Sam, sitting on the floor, holding his chest, breathing heavily. He had closed his eyes, but opened them when Joyce kneeled in front of him.  
  
"What you make me do," she said softly, shaking her head.   
  
"Sorry," he apologized.  
  
"Don't be. How long has it been..."  
  
"Don't know." He took a shaky breath, shivered and added, "Few minutes before I called you."  
  
"Okay. Can you get up?" He thought a little, shook his head, and she raised her eyes to meet Toby's. "I assume you're Toby Ziegler?" she said.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Toby's here?" Sam asked, turning his head, squinting in Toby's direction.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sam frowned and opened his mouth. Toby growled, "Sam, I promise you, if the next words leaving your mouth are 'I'm sorry', I'll kick your ass."  
  
Sam smiled softly, then grimaced. "I can't... God, I can't make it go away," he whispered.  
  
Joyce got up, and gestured to Toby. "Help me get him on the bed," she ordered. Once Sam was lying down again, she said, "Get out now, I need to examine him."  
  
"I thought you were a psycho - "  
  
"Psychiatrist," she interrupted. "I can take a patient's bp if need be."  
  
"I'm not leaving," Toby decided.  
  
Joyce shot him a look and asked, "Sam?"  
  
"Don't care," he said weakly.  
  
"Okay," she said, shrugging.  
  
Toby watched as she pulled up Sam's T-shirt to listen to his heartbeat, took his blood pressure, and asked him a few questions as she was preparing a syringe.  
  
"What are you going to give him?" Toby asked.  
  
"A mild sedative. It'll help him relax."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I was having a nightmare." He chuckled humorlessly. "I guess I'm lucky I didn't hurt someone this time."  
  
Joyce raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She passed a disinfectant wipe over Sam's arm, then injected the sedative.   
  
She sat on the edge of the bed. "What was the nightmare about?"  
  
He shrugged. "Story was published." He stared at the ceiling. "I knew it was a dream, just..."  
  
He stopped.  
  
She looked at Toby askance, and he said reluctantly, "There's a possibility the story might become public."  
  
She sighed. "You should have called me, Sam. That was asking for trouble, trying to do this alone." He opened his mouth and she added quickly, "Don't apologize."  
  
"'Kay," he said sleepily.  
  
She waited silently for him to pass out, and Toby stood at the room's entrance, watching them.  
  
  
  
Sam had been asleep for two hours when the doorbell rang. Joyce and Toby had made themselves comfortable in the living room, in case Sam needed them in the night.  
  
"Why are you staying?" Toby had asked.  
  
"I'm worried," she had answered.  
  
"You're his therapist. Isn't staying at your patient's place a little above and beyond the call of duty?"  
  
She had shrugged. "I retired three years ago, Mister Ziegler. I only see a few of my former patients, who won't or can't see anyone else."  
  
"That's - " He was about to say 'noble' when she cut him off.  
  
"It's a responsibility, too. I could have decided not to see them at all, but I'm almost sure that Sam, for one, wouldn't go talk to anybody else. I don't want to learn that he's killed himself in a few years. Or any of these other people who I still see."  
  
That was brutally honest, and Toby nodded. He wished Sam would confide more in people at work - he couldn't believe that he had once thought that Sam was too talkative - but if Sam preferred a therapist, so be it.  
  
He knew that Sam hadn't told him anything, that he never would. If he could confide in this woman better than in him... well, that was too good an opportunity to waste.  
  
They had sat down and talked a little, until the bell rang. Toby frowned a little, and went to answer the door.  
  
"Josh?" he said, surprised to see him there.  
  
"Toby? What are you doing there?"  
  
"I could ask you the same thing," Toby said calmly.  
  
"I came to see how he was doing," Josh said defensively. "He didn't look well earlier."  
  
"You came here at two in the morning to see if he was fine?" he repeated. "That's... Josh, you weren't going to grill him, were you?" he asked, slowly, as a suspicion struck him.  
  
"What? No, of course - "  
  
"Yeah, you thought that you'd wake him up, and take him off guard, so you could -"  
  
"Toby!" Josh yelled. "I wasn't about to question him, okay? I haven't... I haven't been too great a friend, and I'm worried. Is that really so unacceptable?"  
  
Toby closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"Yeah, whatever, we're all used to seeing you all protective toward him, recently. And what's with that, anyway?"  
  
Toby sighed, and motioned for Josh to come in. "I already told you," he said. "It's not my place to tell."  
  
"Then why don't you convince Sam to talk to me?" Josh asked. His tone was becoming whiny, Toby noticed. He didn't like Josh to be whiny. He was exasperating when he was like that.  
  
"Look, the situation is complicated, and we really don't need you to - "  
  
"Who are you?" Josh interrupted, looking at Joyce when she got up, entering his line of sight.  
  
"Joyce Porter," she answered casually. "You must be Josh," she added, extending her hand.  
  
Josh shook it, frowning at her, and she shrugged.  
  
"Let me guess, not your place to tell," Josh said, when she didn't expand on the reasons of her presence.  
  
"She's my therapist, Josh," Sam said from the door.  
  
Toby turned around quickly, assessing his deputy. Too pale, he decided. His hands were still shaking, he had circles under his eyes, he looked half asleep and his hair was sticking in every direction. "You should be in bed," he pointed out. "How are you even conscious after..."  
  
He trailed off, not wanting to tell Josh about the sedative, and Joyce walked to Sam. "Thirsty?" she asked.  
  
He nodded.   
  
"Okay, go lie down," she ordered. "I'll bring you something,"  
  
He shot a look at Josh and Toby, and Josh took the initiative. "You should go, I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Sam nodded gratefully. "Okay, bye," he mumbled, trotting back to the bedroom.   
  
Joyce came back from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hands, and followed him.  
  
"He looks bad," Josh said quietly when the door of the bedroom had closed.  
  
Toby couldn't deny it.  
  
"His therapist," Josh said, his tone almost plaintive.  
  
"I won't tell you more," he said again. "Drop it, okay?"  
  
Josh didn't look too happy with it, but he seemed to recognize that he couldn't force Toby to tell him what he knew. Shrugging, he sat down. "I'll stay here a little," he said.  
  
  
  
The next morning  
  
"CJ, CJ?"  
  
Sam froze, pen in the air, waiting to hear what question she would be asked this time.  
  
This was becoming ridiculous, he thought. If he couldn't even work while CJ was talking to the press, he might as well turn the TV off.  
  
But if he did that, he was scared that it would prompt a reporter to ask * the * question. It was stupid he knew. If someone in the press corps knew something, he would ask no matter what. He just didn't want to jinx it.  
  
So there he was, startling each time someone called to CJ, unable to focus on his work, bits from his nightmare flowing back at him.  
  
'God, I'm a mess,' he thought.  
  
Toby had told him yet again that he needed to tell CJ, and they had once again argued about it. Sam was fighting even harder now that he was beginning to agree with his boss.  
  
CJ needed to know. Josh too, but for other reasons. Sam hadn't forgotten what it was like to be left out of the loop - on a professional level, of course, but on a personal one as well. If he told CJ, he needed to tell Josh. Besides, if the story made it out, Josh would probably be outed as following a therapy too.  
  
He jumped when yet another reporter yelled CJ's name. His heart was beating too quickly, he realized. He was covered with sweat.  
  
He couldn't go on like that.  
  
He couldn't go on dreading the day CJ would learn from an outsider what had happened.  
  
Getting up, he marched into Toby's office. "Okay, can you tell CJ and Josh to come to my place tonight?" he asked, breathlessly.  
  
Toby looked up, surprised. "Sure, why - Oh. Sure," he said. Then he paused, seemingly at a loss for what to say. "Do you want me to be there too?" he finally asked.  
  
Sam nodded jerkily and Toby smiled reassuringly. "It's gonna be fine," he promised.  
  
Sam looked at him, not daring to believe it.  
  
'Expect the worst,' he told himself. 'That way, you won't be disappointed.'  
  
"Sure," he said, forcing a smile. "Sure."  
  
  
  
That night  
  
Sam's apartment  
  
"Are you sure?" Toby asked again.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "You've been the one harassing me to do this, and now you're having second thoughts?" he complained.  
  
"No, I... Never mind."  
  
He was worried that Sam might snap.  
  
Well, Sam was worried that he might snap too.  
  
He had never really had to tell friends about this. Steve and Toby had guessed on their own and he had only had to confirm, his father had known what had happened, and his therapists were strangers, who had presumably heard worse than his story. They were people he didn't need to live with - he could afford them looking at him compassionately, what did their opinion matter?  
  
He was about to explain everything to two friends. Who could, potentially, freak out, not know how to act around him, and treat him differently.  
  
He wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that.  
  
He wasn't sure he was ready to tell them the whole story.  
  
The bell rang and he jumped slightly. Toby shot him a look and went to answer the door.  
  
"Hey guys," CJ said cheerfully as she entered, closely followed by Josh. "What are we all doing here?"   
  
"Who wants a drink?" Sam asked, to buy some time.  
  
He'd have to get down to it soon, he knew, but he could stall a little.  
  
Just a little.  
  
One hour later, he was still putting it back. Toby was shooting him insistent looks, CJ looked perplexed, and Josh looked about to explode.  
  
After a tense silence, Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, I asked you to come because... there's something I need to tell you."  
  
CJ and Josh looked at him expectantly and he got up nervously, pacing the room. "The thing is... I... When I was living in California..."  
  
He stopped, frustrated. He had prepared a speech, but it was evading him right now. All he could focus on were the faces of his friends, worried, and seeming to close in on him. He stared at the floor not to see them anymore.  
  
It didn't help, their faces danced in his sight.  
  
He couldn't do that, he realized. It seemed like a step back to him, after all the therapy sessions he had followed where he talked about it, but he just couldn't.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he looked at Toby. "Tell them," he said, his voice quavering a little.  
  
"Sam..." Toby shook his head. "I really think you should be the one to..."  
  
"No. I'm sorry, I... I can't. I'm sorry," he added.  
  
He spun on his heels and fled the room, feeling as mature as a six year old.   
  
Damn it.  
  
He had been so sure he was ready for this.  
  
He felt awful, letting Toby explain what was wrong with him while he went hiding in his room, like the coward he knew he was. He should be able to deal better, he thought.  
  
He should have been able to tell his friend, he should have been able to protect his brother, he should have been able to resist his godfather, he should have been strong instead of running to his room.  
  
The last thing he heard before closing the door was Toby's voice. "A few months ago, we were trying to pass this bill," he said.  
  
The door closed and Sam sat on the edge of the bed, shaking.  
  
"I'm sorry," he muttered, even though no one could hear him. "I'm sorry." 


	4. Part Four

PART FOUR  
  
Later that night  
  
Toby knocked, but didn't wait for an answer. He opened Sam's door and poked his head in. "You okay?"   
  
Sam turned to face him, nodding. "I'm sorry, I just... I thought I could it, but I couldn't, I-"  
  
Toby raised a hand to interrupt the apology he was sure would follow. "Never mind. I told them what was up, basically."  
  
It hadn't been the easiest conversation in his life, he reflected. He'd probably never forget the look of horror that had crossed CJ's features, before anger settled in.  
  
"Where's that guy, now?" she had asked through clenched teeth.  
  
"Dead," Toby had answered and she had nodded. He had the feeling it was a good thing, and not just for Sam's sake.  
  
Josh... Josh hadn't been easy to read. In fact, Toby had no idea what he thought of all this. He hadn't asked anything, he hadn't commented, he had just sat there, listening to what Toby knew of the situation.  
  
In a way, Toby supposed it was a good thing that Sam hadn't been the one to tell them the story. They would have felt the need to censure their reactions for his sake, or worse, they wouldn't have been able to, and Sam could have misinterpreted Josh's silence, or CJ looking like she was about to cry.  
  
But on the other hand... Sam had insisted that he was fine, that he was dealing with it, that he was getting help, but he hid it anyway, and he had gotten too good at it, obviously. If telling his closest friends that he had been abused as a child was unthinkable for him, then he couldn't be as fine as he claimed to be.  
  
"How... How did they take it?"  
  
What did he think? That they had run away screaming? Thinking about it, Toby's heart clenched, realizing that maybe that was exactly what Sam had been thinking.   
  
"Well, I think that if CJ had had a gun and your godfather at hand, he would be dead," he deadpanned.  
  
Sam almost smiled, then asked, "Josh?"  
  
Shit, Toby had hoped he wouldn't ask. "Sam, what do you think they both did?" he asked. "They were horrified that you had had to go through this, they were mad as hell at your godfather, they wanted to know how you were."   
  
"I just..." He trailed off.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'd have preferred them not to know," Sam sighed.  
  
"I don't doubt that. But, Sam, we're your friends, okay? You're not the one at fault here, no one blames you for anything, so just... If we can do something, please, ask."  
  
He knew it was a long shot, he knew Sam would never admit easily that he needed a hand, but he had to say it. And maybe, just maybe, Sam would finally believe it.  
  
"Sure," Sam said.  
  
Okay, he didn't sound convinced yet, but these things took time. He'd be patient. "Sam, you have to go see them," he said.  
  
Sam began to shake his head and Toby moved farther into the room. "They're worried. Just go tell them you're fine, they'll leave, but..."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Toby made room for him to leave, and followed him to the living room. CJ was sitting on the couch, hugging herself. Josh was nowhere to be seen and Toby grimaced.  
  
Sam was going to assume... he didn't know what Sam was going to assume, but it wouldn't be good, it was certain.  
  
When CJ noticed that they were there, she got to his feet, and looked at Sam, a gentle smile on her face. "You okay, Sam?" she asked.  
  
He nodded, hesitantly. Without giving him an opportunity to step back, she marched to him and took him in her arms. "You shouldn't have gone through this alone," she said.   
  
"Toby pointed that out to me already," Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, I know I should have told you all long ago, I just..." Still in her arms, he waved his arm weakly.  
  
She let go of him and looked him in the eyes. "I won't try to pretend that I know what you're going through, or what it was like. But I can understand why you wanted to keep that to yourself."  
  
"Thanks," he said before looking around. "Where's Josh?"  
  
CJ bit her lower lip and shot a nervous look at Toby before turning back to Sam. "He had to go. He said something about Amy. I'm sure he would - "  
  
"Yeah, right," Sam answered hurriedly. "I just... never mind, it's all right."  
  
'I'm going to kill him,' Toby thought, seeing the same sentiment on CJ's face.  
  
"Do you want something to drink?" Sam asked, looking desperate for something to do.  
  
They both did, and together, they went to the kitchen to fix something to drink.  
  
  
  
Three hours later  
  
Toby hadn't been able to fall asleep. He was staring at the TV, bemoaning lack of sleep, his mind too busy running scenarios to rest. Sam had waited until CJ had gone home to go to bed, once Toby had managed to convince him that he wouldn't leave him alone tonight no matter what.  
  
Then Toby had settled on the couch, and was now into hour two of wondering what would happen if the story broke. It angered him to even think about it.  
  
What was wrong about seeking help?  
  
What was wrong about being scarred by something you never asked for, something that had been done to you by a pathetic excuse for a human being?  
  
What the hell was so shameful about seeing a therapist in this day and age?  
  
And while he was at it, why did they think it was their business?  
  
Anyone who had met Sam for more than two minutes had nothing but praise for him, but if the story broke, Toby knew there would be talk of instability, of fitness to do the job, of mental state.  
  
And there he was, getting himself worked up.  
  
He sighed and lay down, but sleep definitely wouldn't come.  
  
Then he heard a small cry from Sam's room and all thoughts of sleep flew from his mind. Getting up as quickly as he could, he rushed to the bedroom, to see Sam struggle against the covers.  
  
Another nightmare.  
  
He suddenly wondered how many of those his friend had had in the years, how many of them he had hidden, even before all this happened.  
  
Now wasn't a good time to speculate about it, though. Rushing to Sam's side, he shook him softly. "Sam, wake up."  
  
Sam's struggling only increased.  
  
"Sam!" Toby yelled, shaking him more forcefully.  
  
Sam's eyes shot open and his arm flew up. Toby backed away quickly and Sam froze, breathing heavily. "Toby?"  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"What did you think you were doing?!" Sam shouted.  
  
"You were having a nightmare," Toby explained.  
  
"And you thought you'd wake me up so I could send someone else to the hospital?"  
  
Sam let his arm drop back on the bed and closed his eyes.  
  
"You wouldn't have - "  
  
"I almost did this time," he cut in sharply. "I did with Josh. Damn it, Toby, next time just leave me alone, okay."  
  
"That's not why I stayed, and you know that," he replied quietly.  
  
"I don't know why you stayed. I don't know why you seem so interested in all this. I don't know what you're expecting from me."  
  
Toby frowned. He had thought it was obvious. "I stayed in case you needed something," he said. "I'm worried about you, and I want you to know that you can turn to me."  
  
"I know that," Sam said softly. "I knew before I told you."  
  
"Yet you never do. Not unless you're already deep inside trouble. Talking helps."  
  
He shrugged. "I have a therapist for that," he said.  
  
"For which I'm grateful. But Sam, seriously, you may need to talk to someone, a friend - "  
  
"Toby, there are just things I won't talk about, okay? I mean, Josh never talked about the shooting, and we left him in peace."  
  
"And I'm still not convinced we did a good thing, but that's besides the point."  
  
Josh wasn't his deputy, Sam was.  
  
"Then what's the point?"   
  
Josh wasn't the closest thing he'd ever have to a best friend, Sam was. He had no idea when or how that had happened, but it was undeniable. He just hoped he wouldn't have to spill it.  
  
"Toby?" Sam asked, looking at him finally.  
  
'Please, don't make me say it,' Toby thought.  
  
Sam seemed to understand and didn't push it further.   
  
"I just..." Toby began, not sure how to say it. "I believe you when you say that you're fine, that you won't try to... you know, that you seek help, but I think it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk about... not so much what he did, not if you don't feel like it, but about what you feel now." He stopped, frustrated. How come he wasn't able to do better than this?  
  
"Oh," Sam said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I just... I never really thought that I could speak of one without the other," Sam explained.  
  
"Sam, I never believed that everything you are or do is determined by what that man - "  
  
"I do," Sam cut. "And it's not entirely true, but part of it is. I just... I don't know, it's always been so complicated."  
  
"I gathered that," Toby smiled.   
  
"Yeah. And, well, if you must know, my telling you did change things between us, and that's part of the reason I didn't want to tell the others."  
  
"How did it change?" Toby asked indignantly. He never did anything to lead Sam to believe...  
  
"You never yell at me anymore, Toby. You're always, I don't know, nice to me, like you're afraid I'll think that if you yell, it means that you think less of me because of this. Even after the tape thing, you didn't snap."  
  
"You're telling me that you preferred when I was..."  
  
"Gruff, yes. Everyone's noticed something, and it's disturbing to see you nice."  
  
"Okay, let's... Okay." Toby took a breath, then went on, "Okay, for the record, I didn't yell at you after the tape because you were beating yourself up about it more than I could ever have. No one could have been harder on you than you were, Sam. That's the reason I didn't yell."  
  
Sam had sat up and was staring at the covers. "Okay, I guess I can get that. But for the rest..."  
  
"For the rest, you're right, I probably have... changed. I'll grant you that. I didn't do it on purpose, I just thought... you weren't exactly in any shape to take any abuse from me."  
  
He stopped short, grimacing at his use of the word, and Sam sighed again. "Back when I told you, of course I wasn't. But that was months ago."  
  
"Fine, I'll yell more if that's what you want," Toby raised his arms, signaling his surrender.  
  
"Thanks," Sam said. There was a short silence, and Toby nodded and got up.   
  
"'Night."  
  
"Yeah," Sam said. "Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome," Toby answered, closing the door behind him.  
  
  
  
The next day  
  
White House  
  
Josh was making his way to Sam's office, remembering the withering looks CJ had shot him all morning.  
  
She was pissed at him.  
  
She had every right to be.  
  
He cringed, thinking about how Sam must have felt, coming out of his room to find him gone. He had needed time to let the news sink in, that was all. He didn't feel up to facing Sam back then.  
  
He hadn't known what to say, how to act.  
  
Besides, he had felt guilty. They had been best friends, they were still friends, or at least he hoped so, and he had never suspected. How could he have not suspected? How could he not have noticed the nightmares, the unease Sam displayed sometimes, how could something this huge have evaded him?  
  
Donna would have told him that he was oblivious, but that couldn't be all there was to it.  
  
Maybe he hadn't wanted to know.   
  
After all, how many times had Sam's 'I'm fine' convinced him that he was really fine?  
  
Never.  
  
Yet he had never pushed it, because he was preoccupied by a thousand things, because he was hooked on a new project, because...   
  
Because he hadn't wanted to know.  
  
Arriving at Sam's office, he hesitated a minute before knocking, attracting Sam's attention.  
  
"I come in peace," he tried to joke, lifting the bag containing the Chinese food.   
  
The blank look on Sam's face made him worry. Would his friend even allow him to enter?  
  
"Come in," Sam said coldly.  
  
Josh closed the door, and Sam raised an eyebrow at the unusual gesture.  
  
"I'm sorry," Josh said, putting the bag on the desk. Better get the apology off his chest before he choked on it, he figured. "For not staying yesterday. For being, you know, a lousy friend, and... I just didn't know what to do."  
  
"Okay," Sam said, dropping his glance to the papers he was reading.  
  
"I just... I'm sorry, I didn't know..."  
  
Didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say, and how to reconcile the image of his friend with the ones that had popped in his mind at the words 'sexual abuse'.  
  
"Do you know now?" Sam asked, staring at his desk.  
  
"No."  
  
"You came anyway." Sam was looking up this time, and Josh was startled at the amount of pain he saw in his eyes.  
  
As if he wouldn't have come. As if he would have let Sam alone.  
  
He had, he realized.  
  
"Had you... had you tried to tell me? Before... back when we first became friends, did you?"  
  
"Not really," Sam admitted.  
  
That didn't reassure Josh.  
  
"But?" he pressed on.  
  
"You were easier to avoid than Toby was," Sam said softly. "You always have been."  
  
Josh had thought as much, but it was still a blow to hear it. It must have shown, because Sam hurried to add, "I didn't really * try * Josh. And I'm not sure I'd have told you if you had insisted."  
  
"But I never insisted," Josh completed. Sam was staring down again. "I'm sorry," Josh said.  
  
"You've said that already."  
  
"Yes, well, it bears repeating."  
  
An uncomfortable silence fell on the office. "What... what can I do?" Josh asked when he couldn't take it anymore.  
  
  
  
Sam didn't know what to answer. Josh's apologies had been unexpected, and he could see his friend was honestly trying to make amends here, but still...  
  
What could Josh do?  
  
Build him a time travelling machine?  
  
Look at him in the eyes and tell him that nothing had changed?  
  
Tell him that it would never make it to the press, because there was no way he could live through that?  
  
Tell him that his mother would never look as guilty as his father had when he had discovered that he had left his sons in the hands of a sick man?  
  
Tell him that the nightmares would go away, even if he had lived with them for decades now?  
  
Tell him that he would forget what his godfather had done to him eventually?  
  
Could he promise that?  
  
He would never tell any of that to Josh, he knew. It would hurt him, even if he understood. It must have shown on his face anyway, though, because Josh suddenly looked away, seemingly at a loss for words.  
  
It seemed a pretty common reaction, Sam thought.  
  
To alleviate the tension, and maybe restore the status quo, he smiled. "I should be the one apologizing, here. I did send you to the ER."  
  
"It was a bump," Josh said, shaking his head vehemently.  
  
"Still."  
  
"That should teach me," Josh said. "I had enough nightmares after Rosslyn, I should have known better."  
  
Sam nodded. He still wondered how his friend had survived that one. And it suddenly dawned on him that it had been too long since he had last asked him how he was doing.  
  
"I'm fine," Josh shrugged. "You know, some days are better than the others."  
  
He knew, yes.  
  
"How are you?" Josh asked.  
  
Sam swallowed. A simple 'I'm fine' wouldn't cut it this time, but what to say? He didn't even know how he felt. Scared, of course. Self-conscious. Acutely aware of the way people looked at him. Uncertain of what the future would bring, of the way his relationship with his friends would evolve from there.  
  
He shook his head. "I've been better."  
  
Josh nodded. "We're here," he said quietly.  
  
He knew that too, and it was a comfort. It wouldn't be enough if the story made it to a reporter, but as long as things stayed as they were, it would be enough. 


	5. Part Five

PART FIVE  
  
One month later  
  
"So there's still nothing," Sam said by way of greeting when he entered CJ's office.  
  
She smiled reassuringly. "Still nothing."  
  
Nothing from the press, nothing from their opponents, not even vague rumors. Everyone seemed to have moved on.  
  
It didn't stop Sam from worrying. Maybe it was just the calm before the storm, maybe it was just that their opponents were waiting for a good opportunity.  
  
"It's still out there," he sighed.  
  
"Sam... we don't even know for sure that it was out there in the first place. Maybe Steve didn't tell anything to Kevin, maybe Kevin was just making empty threats."  
  
"They didn't sound empty," he said.  
  
"I know, but..."  
  
She didn't finish, and he was grateful. He had been vulnerable to suggestion that night, he knew. He had just had a meeting with Joyce, a car had sped up as he was exiting her building, maybe he had read too much into Kevin's comments. For all they knew, the guy still wasn't working for Ritchie.  
  
Maybe he had been scared for nothing. Maybe Kevin had just wanted to make him nervous.  
  
He certainly hoped so.  
  
"There's also the possibility that they have the story and will never use it," CJ added.  
  
Sam had thought about it himself, and it was a possibility. After all, if they did get the story out, they could look like they were kicking people who were down already - Josh had been the victim of a racist shooting, Sam had been raped as a kid. Coming after Sam may look opportunistic, and... low.  
  
"So you think it won't get out?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know," she said. "I wish I could promise you, but... I think that if they had wanted to do something to divert the public's attention, they'd have done it by now. But - "  
  
"But maybe they're waiting for the right opportunity," Sam completed for her.   
  
"Yes."  
  
"Okay," he said, going to the door.  
  
"How are you?" CJ asked.  
  
He paused to think. "Better," he said, knowing that a vague 'fine' would definitely be a wrong answer to give her. He had said it so often that Toby, Josh and her had threatened to throttle him if he said it once more.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really," he said, a little impatiently. Meaning it. The nightmares were less frequent. He was beginning to accept that Josh and CJ now knew what had happened to him. He didn't jump at shadows anymore.  
  
She nodded. "Good. Get to work, I think Toby's bellowing for you."  
  
Sam laughed frankly. His boss had begun to yell again, and that had been a huge relief to him. The first time, he had gone to Sam's office, holding a draft Sam had put on his desk a few hours ago - a deliberately bad draft.   
  
Just to see if Toby would hold his word.  
  
He had.  
  
Toby had marched into the office, shouting at the top of his lungs. After a good ten minutes of inventive insults - some of them Sam was sure his boss was making up as he went, Toby had concluded by "Do you think the President is going to give that speech? Damn it, Sam, we don't have time for this!"  
  
The noise in the bullpen had dropped to nothing by then, everyone pretending to be busy while listening - and probably taking notes, and looking up a few of the words Toby had used. For future reference.   
  
"I'm sorry," Sam had said innocently, "I gave you the wrong one."  
  
Reaching to his outbox, he had grabbed a folder and handed it to Toby.  
  
"Good," his boss had said, his voice still too loud. "Get back to work, then."  
  
He had left, then, as if struck by a second thought, he had turned back and poked his head in the office. "Better?" he had asked.  
  
"Much," Sam had answered, sincerely.  
  
Toby had left again, roaring, "What are you all looking at?" at the assembled staffers.  
  
Everyone had taken a step back or fled the room, leaving Sam smiling softly.  
  
Toby was still careful around Sam, but he was now more free to yell if need be, and Sam was enjoying the semblance of normality between them.  
  
  
  
Two weeks later  
  
"Can I talk to you?"  
  
Sam looked up, took in the serious expression on his boss's face and felt himself pale.  
  
"It's not that," Toby hurried to say. "Well, not directly."  
  
Sam swallowed, nodded and gestured for Toby to sit.  
  
After a tense silence, he said, "Toby, I'm pretty nervous here."  
  
Toby smiled. "Sorry. The thing is... Josh and I tracked Kevin down."  
  
"Oh," Sam said, blushing slightly when his voice wavered.  
  
"Yeah, we found him, and we..."  
  
Toby trailed off, and Sam looked at him with interest. "Toby? Did you, by any chance, scare him to death?"  
  
Toby looked smug. "Yes, yes, I believe we did."  
  
Sam, who had relaxed a little as he pictured Kevin facing Josh and Toby in a bad mood, tensed again when he considered possible repercussions. "What if - " he began.  
  
Toby gestured for him to stay quiet, then went on. "He was drunk when we met him. And he was... quite talkative."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"He does know you once saw a therapist," Toby said bluntly. "He doesn't know who it was. He certainly doesn't know why you did. He doesn't have anything to prove that you did. And I don't think he knows you still see someone."  
  
Sam breathed. "Okay." He took a moment to let it sink in, then frowned. "I thought you said Kevin was 'drunk and talkative'?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But you're not sure - "  
  
"He wasn't coherent when we reached this part of the discussion," Toby explained. "He babbled a lot, but he didn't say anything definitive. I, personally, don't think he knows."  
  
Sam couldn't think of anything to say, so he stayed silent. Toby, obviously not wanting to push him, waited. After a long while, Sam shook himself. "I suppose we'll never know more," he mused.  
  
"No."  
  
Sam got up, and went to the window. Staring ahead, he added, "Unless it comes out..."  
  
"I don't think it'll come to that," Toby said. "We... hinted, that he better lay off."  
  
"But if he decides to dig a little, he could find out."  
  
"He'd have to dig * a lot *, given what little he knows now."  
  
"But it's possible."  
  
"Improbable," Toby replied.   
  
There was another silence, then Sam said, "Thanks."  
  
"Anytime," Toby said. "We just... We know you're doing better, but you were so... tense, waiting for something to happen."  
  
"I still am," Sam said. "Just... less so."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Toby got up, and was almost at the door when Sam said, "I hate him."   
  
Toby turned around, startled. "Kevin?"  
  
"My godfather," Sam answered. "I hate him. I... He died, and left me and Franck alone with what he had done. I've often... I'd like to face him, now, and yell at him."  
  
His voice caught. He swallowed, and went on.   
  
"I'd like to... confront him, I guess. Ask him why - if there even was a reason. I want to rage at him. I want closure, I want... He died, and now I can't do that, and that... He deprived me of that chance, Toby. And it's possible that someday, everyone will know what he did to me, and * he * won't have to bear the consequences. It was too easy for him. Death was too easy. I lived, and... I'm still dealing with it, I'm still not over it, I probably never will be. There's no happy ending here, you know. It's a part of me, and it will always be a part of me, even if time makes it better. And I hate him, and it's not a noble feeling, but I don't care. I don't care of it makes me a bad person, or whatever. I just do."  
  
"You're not a bad person," Toby said.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"He was."  
  
Sam nodded, his back still to Toby. "Whatever. That's... I just wanted to say that."  
  
Toby nodded, and said, "Okay."  
  
Sam turned to him and smiled weakly. "Toby?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Thanks," Sam said. "For, you know... everything, really."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
  
  
The next morning  
  
Sam arrived at his office to see Josh waiting for him.  
  
"Hey buddy," his friend said cheerfully, "have you seen the last ad from Ritchie?"  
  
"No, but look, I have - "  
  
"It's funny," Josh went on, "you should see it."  
  
Five minutes later, they were both laughing - in fact, Josh was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face.  
  
When they had calmed down, he asked, "How are you doing?"  
  
Sam sighed. He was tired of having people ask him that question all the time, and he was beginning to think that he should do something about it.  
  
"I'm good," he smiled.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I really am."  
  
"I believe you."  
  
"Do you?" he asked defensively.  
  
"Yes," Josh laughed.  
  
"Good, then."  
  
The two were silent a moment, then Josh asked, "Really?"  
  
Sam raised his hands in surrender. "How many times do I have to tell you yes?"  
  
"We're worried," Josh defended.  
  
"I know."  
  
"We really are."  
  
"I really know," he replied, trying not to let his aggravation creep into his voice. "Look, chances are they never had it anyway. And I... I don't know."  
  
He wished he could put all of it behind him, but unfortunately, that wasn't possible.  
  
Even if the story didn't leak, he still had to deal with the consequences of what his godfather had done. That was something no one could do for him, just like none of them had been able to help Josh go through the PTSD. His friends could support him, and he knew they would, but in the end, it was a matter of will. It was Sam who had to work through his 'issues', as he called them.  
  
He knew, from having done it so many years, that it would never get easier.  
  
He also knew that he was capable of doing it.  
  
Besides, this time, his friends would be able to at least listen if something went wrong.  
  
It would be alright, he vowed, and for the first time in many years, he actually believed it.  
  
END  
  
Liked it? Hated it? Let me know at lazy.gege@ibelgique.com 


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